


So Young At Love And Life

by clockworkrobots



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:17:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkrobots/pseuds/clockworkrobots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel thinks he knows exactly what to expect of his final year of high school. He would be wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In thirteen days and thirteen hours, Castiel Milton will start his final year of high school. He knows this, for he keeps a counter open on his computer desktop. He knows this, for the knowledge that he is 13 days and 13 hours closer to moving out from his suffocating house and stifling town is cherished indeed. 

As for the 10 months he has left of high school education, has very little expectation. Of course, he _is_ beginning the year at a new school, and he supposes that will pose some changes to his daily schedule, but Castiel is of the opinion that any establishment inhabited by teenagers must be just like the rest, whether it be the private school he came from, or the public one he's headed for.

He knows how this school year will go: he will sit in the second last seat in the row closest to the door in each classroom, and he will answer any question directly asked of him, but will seldom elect to raise his hand before. He will make friendly acquaintances rather than friends, and that suits him just fine. His parents won't care. His parents will be too embarrassed to tell their friends he goes to public school now at all. Castiel, in turn, won't care for their opinion anyway, for their elitism can go fuck itself. He will eat lunch quickly and alone and then head for the library, or perhaps the shade of a lonely tree in the yard behind the school, where he can ignore the world on his laptop and forget that 17 is too young for true wisdom.

Castiel will annoy some teachers and charm others, a good, bright student, but with all the veiled arrogance that comes with it. He knows he will be remembered by his peers for his helpfulness in group projects instead of for his name. That's all okay with him. As long as he's out of Godfried Academy, he will be content, as nothing about the coming school year can be as awkward as it would have been, if he still went to the place where his father was the headmaster, considering they are no longer on civil speaking terms.

His expectations, therefore, of the experience Hopewell High will yield, are fairly benign and unimpressive, and to be honest, he prefers it this way. A quiet and quick final year before his grand escape unto the world is just what he needs.

He knows exactly how this school year will go. But, for the first time, in a long time, Castiel will be wrong. For he had absolutely no idea, that Dean Winchester attends the same school.

 

***

  
The story of how Castiel fell out with his father is one kept desperately quiet by the Milton family--for propriety reasons, you understand--but for the parties involved it was an explosive event. Castiel, for his part, objects that it should have been, but far be it for him to be the face of reason in front of his father, the supposedly omniscient director of all personal and professional affairs in his household. 

But when a son of Mr. Milton decided to be caught by a police officer drinking and smoking underage in a park with another boy he didn't even know, the potential scandal for the God-fearing Milton family was too much to bear. The misdemeanour was covered up, of course, helped out by the fact that the reporting police officer in question was the father of the other boy, but the embarrassment was too much for Castiel's father to allow him to stay at their righteous and revered Christian private school.

There was an argument, there where battle lines drawn, and in the end, it was decided that Castiel would be quietly allowed to switch schools, to put some peaceful distance between him and his father (much to his mother's relief).

If it hadn't caused his mother so much stress, Castiel would almost be amused that _this_ was the event that broke the camel's back, so to speak, getting drunk and high on a park bench with a boy Castiel had only met that night, introduced by his sister Anna at a party. In hindsight, it seemed so silly, so simple, a throwaway night of frivolity where Castiel forgot all obligation and talked about dreams and philosophy with a boy so beautiful the most insistent thought on his mind that night was they he really ought to be kissed.

He never got to, unfortunately, for their fun was broken up soon enough, but Castiel's not stopped dreaming of those green eyes, you see, spotted under that park lamplight, and that smile, who's laugh pierced the night.

 

***

  
On the first day of the last year of Castiel's current life, he finds those eyes staring back at him again.

 

***

  
Dean, it turns out, is in his homeroom class. By his expression, Castiel thinks he is just as surprised to see Castiel sitting at the back of the classroom that morning as Castiel is to then see him sit down beside him.

"Dude, you never told me you went here!" Dean says, leaning across his desk to speak. Castiel supposes he's going to try and get as much conversation in before the teacher walks in as he can. Castiel is not sure of his ability to sustain a regular conversation without the social lubricant of alcohol and parental resentment, but he tries anyway.

"It didn't, because I... didn't," he says simply. It wasn't a perfect sentence, but it will have to do. Somehow, Dean seems to grasp his meaning.

"Is this your first day?"

Castiel taps his pen on blank paper in front of him, his notebook out and ready to the day to begin. "Isn't it everyone's first day?" he says dryly.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Haha, you know what I mean. I thought you said you went to some fancy, exclusive military school or something? So it's your first day _here_ , right?"

Castiel is impressed at his memory, considering how tipsy he already was when they absconded from that party. He's also just a little bit flattered that this information about himself seemed worth remembering, but refrains from letting it show on his face. "It wasn't a military school, but yes."

Dean seems happy with this concession, and sits back in his chair, propping his feet up on the book basket beneath the chair in front of him. He stretches his arms back, and his t-shirt rides up just a bit on his stomach. Castiel is entranced, but also at a bit of a loss. Here, he's on Dean's turf, he guesses. He's perhaps more out of his element than he'd anticipated.

"I guess it's useless to ask how you're liking it so far, since you've been here all of 20 minutes, maybe," Dean laughs, and smiles. It's the same smile Castiel remembers from that night, and a warm feeling washes through him. But before he can respond with some failing attempt at flirtation, their teacher strolls in, and the morning announcements start.

Somehow, with Dean looking relaxed and distracting beside him, Castiel thinks this will be a _very_ long morning.

Somehow, he also doesn't entirely mind.


	2. Chapter 2

_3 Months Earlier_

  
Though Castiel would later begin a good run at it, his sister Anna had always been the family rebel. Older than Castiel by 2 years (which was not a very large age gap considering their next closest sibling to them in age was now 28 and living Los Angeles, and with a baby of his own--their father had indeed been married more than once), Anna was as close to a best friend as Castiel could ever claim. Perhaps that was the reason his junior year ultimately ended so disastrously, for it was a tough adjustment for Castiel, if he was honest, to continue on at home when Anna no longer lived in it. 

She had jetted off as soon as she could, as Castiel, too, intended. But, being Anna, she did it with much more fiery flare than probably even Castiel could manage. She found a fully paid scholarship at a North Western art school, a cheap apartment with some friends on her own dime, and denounced their church by kissing her girlfriend in front of her whole graduation party, thrown by friends from said conservative church. Suffice to say it made their father furious, and Anna, feeling very, very free.

But, that summer, or for at least a few weeks of it, she had come back. Mostly to visit Castiel, but also to visit some old friends. For all of their own sanity and safety, she stayed with her generous community class art teacher, Ms. Barnes, of whom Anna had once admitted to Castiel in secret that she had always had a crush on (she took art at their former high school, of course, but her artistic interests were decidedly more diverse than their private school allowed, and so she sought guidance elsewhere).

This all meant that, with Anna, Castiel felt thrillingly out from under his father's eye for the first time in his life. It was like a first taste of an ice cream flavour Castiel could now never get enough of. Which was why, when she invited him out to an old friend's party, he accepted on the spot. It was highly unusual for him, and Anna was throughly delighted.

After 5 minutes at the party venue, however, he kind of regretted it. Not that he was unhappy he'd agreed to spend more time with his sister, but after 5 minutes at the party, he realised he wasn't really spending time _with her_. He was really spending time with dozens upon dozens of progressively drunker people who he didn't know and would probably have no reason to see again. For some, this assurance of anonymity might be a confidence booster. For Castiel, it just made him feel terribly, terribly bored.

By the end of the first hour, he'd managed somehow to lose Anna twice, and by the end of the second, he decided to wait the whole night out alone on the porch. He'd brought rations with him of course--the remnants of a six pack of beer his sister had bought him as an enticement--but he was starkly at a lack for company. But he also didn't want to go home.

It was here, halfway to drunk on a combination of loneliness and cheap beer, that Castiel met Dean Winchester. 

 

***

  
"Jesus, I didn't think anyone was out here," the stranger says when he notices Castiel's presence, stumbling out onto the porch.

"I'm sorry," Castiel responds as a greeting, squinting into the dark to catalogue the other boy's face. "Do you want me to leave?" Perhaps him and his friends want the porch to smoke. Castiel has no idea where he will go instead, but he feels as though he ought to offer all the same.

"No, no," the boy explains. "I was just--" he stops, and then chuckles to himself tipsily, glancing back at the closed door behind them. "I was just escaping, actually," he admits when he turns back to look at Castiel.

This confession automatically endears Castiel to him, which is surprising. Castiel is rarely immediately endeared to _anyone._ "Same here," he offers sombrely, in solidarity.

"You want to get out of here?" the boy then asks. "I can never breathe at these things, too many people."

The proposition sounds enticing, but Castiel is still wary. "And go where?" he demands. He doesn't want to get lost in a neighbourhood he doesn't quite know, with a boy he certainly doesn't know at _all_.

Then again, the boy is quite handsome, he thinks to himself, and Castiel is now a good deal drunker than he'd originally thought.

The boy shrugs. "Where ever. There's a park nearby."

"That will do," Castiel says. He does like parks, and he does like the lilt of this boy's voice.

It occurs to him then that he doesn't know the other boy's name. 

"Dean," he grins when Castiel asks, and then pauses, as if to request Castiel's own.

"Castiel."

Dean juts out his bottom lip to consider this, and Castiel waits for the inevitable comment upon the strangeness of his name. People often find it incongruous with his very ordinary looking appearance, and even more common place surname (his given name was his mother's touch). 

Dean, though, surprises him. "Cool," is all he says, and then smiles again. Even in this dark, as the night settles over them, Castiel is _drawn_ to it.

"Alright, Cas, let's go and get the _real_ party started."


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out Castiel only has that one homeroom class with Dean--which turns out to be a shared English class--which is simultaneously something of a disappointment and a relief.

It's disappointing, for Castiel seems to have developed a quick affection for Dean, that might qualify somewhere in the realm of "tentative friendship," but on the more relieving side of things, it does mean his other classes are mercifully free of the distraction of easy smiles and conspiratory whispers.

Castiel soon discovers public school is not as different from private education as his father made it seem.

He'd always suspected, but it's another thing to see it in practice. Castiel, of course, understands the quality of education varies in every place, but Hopewell High has a surprisingly adept crop of educators on hand. By the end of the day, for instance, Castiel has decided that Mr. Singer is his favourite teacher that he's ever had.

He's always been an avid student of history, always loving ancient stories of friendship and betrayal, gruesome battles and tirelessly crafted peaces, sly political manoeuvres and destructive scandals. History is about people, and though Castiel has always had a hard time relating to others in his contemporary life, he's always been fascinated by the idea that history will unlock some elusive social secret. It also makes him really great at _Jeopardy!_ , to Anna's amused exasperation.

Mr. Singer is perhaps the most unconventional history teacher Castiel's ever had, although by the limits of Castiel's experience that mostly means he talks _with_ students instead of just _at_ them. Of course, they don't get through any actual course material on their first day of introduction, but Singer makes a good impression nonetheless.

"I'm not here to have you kids memorise a bunch of dates and names and have you forget them all the day after your final exam," he says as soon as the class is settled. "I'm here to _teach_ you, which means you best actually _understand_ what in the hell you're talking about."

It's said all very gruffly and with no nonsense, but Castiel wonders if a student manages to get on the right side of this man, he is actually very kind. Sometimes the most understanding teachers are also the most harsh, because they tend to suspect that you've have a lot more in you than you yourself believe.

"Which means almost all of you are gonna moan about the amount of homework you'll have to do, and all I can say to that is: just wait until you get to college. I'm really doing you a favour."

Castiel can _feel_ rather than see the terrorised faces of unsuspecting students in front of him, all groaning internally that this won't be an easy burn course after all, and tries very hard not to smirk. 

He has no idea if this class will like _him_ , but Castiel feels that he will like this class very much. He will admit to a certain amount of arrogance when he thinks that he is already a shoe-in for the top of his class. 

Well, perhaps a _good deal_ of arrogance, but Castiel never claimed modesty was very alive in him. No, his self self-doubt tends to take root by more insidious means.

 

***

  
He doesn't see Dean any more that day, though he doesn't really make an effort to look for him. Something in Castiel suspects that Dean has far more exciting lunch time activities planned that Castiel himself, and all he really wants is to sit quietly.

He thinks he spots Dean in the yard outside, back behind the school where he goes to sit beneath the shade of some mid-sized maple trees, with a group of people Castiel has no way of recognising. But they are all too far away for Castiel to be sure, and by the time he's finished his pre-packed sandwich, he's entirely forgotten about it.

 

***

  
The next day Castiel wakes up feeling more alive than he can scarcely remember being. In the coming hours he faces yet again a new school and new teachers and new students that will surely ignore him, but yet--there is also _Dean_.

For the first time, in a long time, he's excited to be right where he is.

"Morning, Cas," Dean says as he flops down in his claimed seat in the row across from Castiel's. He again hasn't brought any materials with him to class, and Castiel does a mental inventory quickly to see if he might have any to spare, should Dean ask. He doesn't.

Today, Dean is dressed much like the other times Castiel has seen him, though this morning his jeans are black instead of blue, and the plaid shirt thrown over his undershirt, red instead of green. There's a nondescript comfortability to his dress that really suits him. Then again, Castiel thinks Dean would look very handsome in anything he wore. He has one of those charms.

(He would probably also look equally good without _any_ clothes, but Castiel refrains from going down that train of thought so early in his day.)

"Hello, Dean," he says in return.

"You have a good first day?" Dean asks. Castiel wonders if Dean is just being polite or if he genuinely likes making conversation with him, but he's not prepared to truly question that just yet. If all false, he'd like to at least live in the illusion a little longer.

"I suspect it will not be any different from all the rest," he says simply.

Dean raises his brow. "In a good way or bad way?"

"Completely neutral."

Dean looks like he wants to add something further to that, but he is cut off when their teacher, asks them all to quiet down.

 

***

  
When all the students begin packing up as the bell rings, Dean speaks to him again.

"So you didn't get up to any hijinks or scandals? For shame." 

"I'm saving those all for today," Castiel deadpans, as he collects his notebook and pens into his bag.

"Ah, you'll be in want of some accomplices, then, for your hell raising," Dean recommends. "What're you doing at lunch?"

"Eating lunch, I imagine."

Dean laughs, but Castiel can tell it's also half of an exasperated sigh. "What are you, allergic to straight answers?"

"That was as straightforward of a description of my planned lunch hour as I can imagine, honestly," Castiel sort of half apologises, in the way that he's really not at all but at least _looks_ remorseful, with his wide, unblinking eyes.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that's Cas code for 'I'm gonna eat lunch alone again'."

Cas narrows his eyes. "That makes me sound a lot more lonely than I actually am," he points out, just a bit defensively, which makes Dean smile.

"Well how about being even less lonely with me?" he asks, and Castiel doesn't know if it's the distracting swell of Dean's lips or any _actual_ inflection in those words, but they sound extremely flirtatious to his ears. It throws him a bit.

"What?"

Dean sighs as he stands up. "Jesus, I'm inviting you to _hang out,_ "

"Oh," Castiel says blandly. Is there a more eloquent way to accept an overture of friendship? He honestly has no idea. "Okay."

"Do you make every conversation this difficult?" Dean wonders, but it's not cruel or accusing. For all he claims annoyance by it, he also seems to enjoy it. That would be a first, in Castiel's experience. "Or am I just special?"

Castiel feels suddenly brave enough to say, "If I say you're special, will you be honoured or offended?"

Dean takes a second to mull it over. "Both," he answers honestly.

"Well, I would answer both as well," Castiel smiles back, slinging his back pack over his shoulders as he stands up himself, ready to bolt to his next period.

It's Dean's turn to be confused. "What?"

"Maybe you are special," Castiel says. "But yes, I am just that difficult." And with that, heads for the door.

"Wait!" Dean calls after him. "What about lunch?"

"I'll find you," Castiel throws over his shoulder enigmatically, and disappears out the door.

Never let it be said he could not make a good exit.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel doesn't actually have any real knowledge of where to find Dean come the ringing of the lunch bell, but he has an instinct to wait out on the back step of the school, feeling in his gut that Dean would probably favour leaving the building by a door through which he's less likely to be noticed. Castiel has seldom been one to follow gut feelings before, and worries briefly if Dean is rubbing off on him too quickly. All thoughts of dangerous influences on his cool sense of logic, however, are quickly shed when indeed Dean does burst through the door, with another tall, burly boy at his side, who Castiel supposes must be a close friend.

He introduces himself as Benny, speaking with a slow, southern drawl that sounds charming, but Castiel feels irrationally jealous that he is so close and familiar with Dean where Castiel isn't. Such jealousy is an absurd feeling, and he internally chastises himself.

His disgruntlement with himself might translate a _bit_ into how he introduces himself out loud, though, for his tone is sharp and his shoulders are stiff when he gives his name in turn.

He notices Benny's eyebrows raise in Dean's direction, as if to say, “Seriously? _This_ guy?” but Castiel cares little for bad first impressions made upon people he has little interest in making friends with. Anna calls him anti-social. Castiel just says he's picky.

Dean, at least, seems to have resigned himself to Castiel's aloofness, for he just shakes his head as if to implore Benny to forget about it. “So!” he says, clapping his hands to distract all of them, to disperse the tense atmosphere that has encircled his two friends. “We just have Sam and Charlie to wait for, and then we can be off.”

“Off?” Castiel asks. He wasn't under the impression that they had anywhere to _go_.

“Yeah, um, Charlie actually lives really close by,” Dean explains. Castiel assumes Charlie must be another close friend. He hopes, whomever they are, that for Dean's sake he is better able to make an amiable impression. Benny is still eyeing him warily.

“We usually hang out at hers.”

Castiel cocks his head. “I didn't know we were allowed to leave school property.” Certainly that would have been out of the question at his father's school.

“Yeah, man, of course!” Dean grins, like this is his favourite part of his whole day. “I mean, not that we'd exactly _care_ even if we weren't—no one's gonna stop us either way,” he laughs. “But yeah, Charlie's place is cool. And Charlie herself is even cooler, so.”

“And who is Sam?”

Dean looks visibly taken aback at this gap in Castiel's knowledge. “Have I never told you about Sam?” he wonders, shocked. Castiel wants to point out that they've really only had a total of three conversations ever in their lives, but perhaps Dean thought this was information that _everyone_ , no matter the level of acquaintance, should know. “Sam's my brother,” he says proudly. “And him and Charlie are both little, scary, freshmen geniuses, so don't get on their bad side.” He winks.

Benny, though, decides to add on to Dean's good natured, joking threat with a bit more sinister of a warning. “And don't get on mine, neither. I'm _big_ and scary.” He smiles, but the friendliness is façade.

Castiel, though, can be equally snide if he wants to be. “Not a genius too, then?” he mocks. “I wouldn't have thought.”

Benny narrows his eyes at him, and Castiel thinks he hears something of a _bear_ growl. “I'm smart enough to know what to do with _you_ \--”

“Oh my _god,_ ” Dean interjects, literally stepping right between them. “You guys are _killing_ me.” Castiel does at least have the good grace to look a bit remorseful for ruining Dean's lunch hour before it'seven started. He still shoots Benny one last glare, of course, for good measure. “Just shut up and play nice,” Dean begs of them. They both nod at him curtly, refusing to speak to each other any more.

Thank God Sam and Charlie show up very soon after that.

 

***

  
Castiel quickly comes to understand the fondness with which Dean had spoken about both of them. Charlie turns out to be an effervescent, enthusiastic character, with bright red hair and a happy spark dancing in her eyes. She's almost too quick witted with well timed references for Castiel to keep up, but Castiel decides he likes her. He also finds he likes watching her and Dean verbally spar on the short walk to her house, trying to one-up each other with pop culture trivia and name-dropping. Castiel can barely claim to know _half_ of what they're referencing, but it's something of a marvel to witness.

Sam, too, is friendlier to Castiel than he has any right to be, in the face of Castiel's unyielding awkwardness. He _wants_ Sam to like him, though, for he is Dean's brother and enjoyable company in his own right. He is also, indeed, very bright for a 14 year old. Castiel is afraid he is a very poor conversationalist, but Sam's exuberant excitement for meeting new people washes away enough stiltedness to feel like, by the end of their introductory conversation, that Sam's accepted him. It's a feeling that buoys him almost all through lunch.

From the walk to the house and all the way through the ensuing hour, Benny continues to ignore him, but Castiel is very fine with that.

 

***

  
Apparently their group lunch time activities vary wildly, as Charlie's house comes equipped with an array of distractions, from multiple video game consoles and the largest collection of board games Castiel's ever seen, to a ping-pong table, to a basketball net in the driveway. She also, as she very proudly boasts, has the best internet connection of anyone in the neighbourhood.

When Dean jokes that she illegally acquired it, she fails to correct him. Castiel is silently impressed.

Today's chosen entertainment turns out to be the Playstation, as apparently Charlie and Sam still have a score to settle on some game Castiel has never heard of before. Although, after a couple minutes of careful observation of the gameplay, he wonders if he wouldn't be very good at it. Perhaps Dean will challenge him, and he can test his hypothesis out.

His stomach grumbles before he can ask for a turn, so instead he asks Charlie if he can use her microwave, in order to heat up some leftover pasta from his dinner last night.

He walks into the kitchen alone, but Dean soon joins him.

“I would say sorry about Benny,” he begins with, leaning against the counter of the kitchen island across from the stove and microwave above it. “But it's kinda your own fault you pissed him off, man. He's normally a really sweet guy.”

Castiel hums in vague acknowledgement, peeling off the lid of his container and popping it in the microwave, setting it for 3 minutes. “I'm sure,” he offers, though it might come out just sounding a _little_ sarcastic.

“You _were_ kind of a dick to him,” Dean says. That sounds about right, to be fair. That's often Castiel's reaction to a lot of people that aren't Anna--or Dean, apparently.

Castiel sighs as he turns, mirroring Dean's stance against the counter opposite him. “I was, yes,” he finally concedes after a beat. “I'm sorry.”

Dean shakes his head. “You don't have to apologise to me, dude. But I mean, it'd be cool if you wanted...” he casts his gaze to the floor, and is tentative when he finishes his sentence with, “if you wanted to continue hanging out with us?”

Castiel thinks it must be a big deal for Dean to outright _ask_ him, if he's this nervous about it. He's positively yearning to say yes.

“Which means you should probably make peace with Benny,” Dean adds before Castiel can speak. “Because he might just kill you. They _do_ say his great grandpa was a pirate.”

“I don't understand what his ancestor being a pirate has anything to do with _his_ assassin credentials.” Castiel schools his face into a very serious expression. “Perhaps we _should_ indeed empirically test them with a duel.” He may or may not only be _half_ joking--even he doesn't really know.

“What--” Dean starts. “Was that a joke?”

Castiel's responding smile is small, mischievous. “Perhaps.”

“Jesus,” Dean laughs. The sound is light and bright, and Castiel immediately wants to hear it again. “You're a dry son of a bitch, aren't you?”

“I like to remain unpredictable,” he shrugs. He's always had too much expectation lumped upon them, and it's been liberating, this last little while, to break free.

Dean considers him for a long moment, long enough for the beep of the microwave to break the silence before either of them can get to it. “You're good at it,” Dean says finally.

The food in the microwave remains forgotten for now, despite its protest beeps. Castiel raises his eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or an objection?”

“I don't know,” Dean says honestly.. “Which ever you want.”

Castiel nods. “I'll take the praise, thank you.”

Dean's smile is a beautiful thing. “It's yours.”

Castiel's mouth feels dry and strangely over-salivated all at once. He thinks the insistent sound in his ears is still the microwave, making its last desperate attempts to be heard, but it might also be the pumping of his blood.

The spell is broken, however, when Dean leaps off from his perch against the counter. “So!” he says, a little breathlessly. “Whaddaya say, Cas? You in for the same time and place tomorrow?”

“I have nowhere else to be,” he says, and he's always had a deep, scratchy voice, he knows—especially since puberty—but his voice sounds even rougher to himself than usual.

If Dean picks up on that, though, he has no way to tell, for he's turning to walk back to the living room, now that his fears of Castiel rejecting his group of friends is gone. “Sweet.”

Castiel's pasta, when he finally takes it out, is steaming and spicy, but despite all reason, it tastes just a bit sweet on his tongue, too.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me two weeks to update this! I've been going through my first weeks of school as well so busy, busy, busy.

Castiel starts spending lunch with Dean and his little band of friends every day, even making a tentative, if unspoken, peace with Benny. He still doesn't really know what _his_ place is among them, except as Dean's awkward invitee, but in general they all seem to take to him despite his sometimes difficult manner.

Though Castiel shares a class with Dean, and therefore sees him a fair amount outside of their lunch time get-togethers, in the context of a classroom Dean is almost a different creature. Castiel has observed that he is not unintelligent—indeed, he has already breezed through his reading of their first novel of the semester by the second week of classes, and if called upon in class will either have a unexpectedly profound comment to make, or an extremely witty one. But Dean, Castiel has noticed, does not enjoy being singled out, less if it's in a class where he only has one friend to back him up. No, Dean is truly in his element among his friends, and to be honest, Castiel has come to relish being privy to this secret.

So Castiel spends a blissful two weeks in the company of Charlie's laughter and Dean's smiles, until one day, all of a sudden, he doesn't.

It's hardly through any will of his own, but one lunch hour, two weeks into the new school year, Castiel arrives at their normal meeting spot and finds no one there. He waits a good ten minutes, but he's never been one for much patience, and ten minutes of embarrassment over being stood up for lunch is all he's willing to yield. He spends his lunch hour that day under the same tree he had his first, alone and quiet, and he keeps telling himself all throughout that maybe this is the way he's just meant to be.

When he sees Dean in class the next morning, he's still smarting maybe a bit in rejection, and so only acknowledges Dean's arrival at the desk across from him with a terse nod. Perhaps he might be scowling a bit too, for Dean is quick to pick up on his sour attitude.

“Are you pissed at me or something?” he asks, whispering as the teacher begins taking attendance at the head of the room.

“Why would you think that?” Castiel whispers back, looking straight ahead at the blackboard.

“Well, normally you at least give me a gruff 'Hello, Dean' even if you're particularly grumpy and deprived of coffee.”

Castiel feigns innocence. “What would I have to be angry about?”

“That's literally what I'm asking _you,_ ” Dean huffs in frustration. Perhaps he truly doesn't know, Castiel thinks. Maybe he's suffered a serious head injury, between now and yesterday, and doesn't remember abandoning Castiel without warning out in the yard.

“You didn't show up at lunch yesterday.”

“What—?” Dean blinks, surprised, but it all comes back to him soon after. “Oh _shit_ , that. Um, sorry? Fuck, for some reason I thought I told you I'd be busy?” He at least looks remorseful, though Castiel still feels a bit unforgiving. So sue him.

“Busy.”

“Um, yeah,” Dean rubs the back of his neck, almost _embarrassed_. Strange, Castiel thinks. “There's this... club... _thing_ we do sometimes. I didn't—I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd be into it, man, I'm sorry. I should've told you not to wait up. My bad.”

Castiel offers nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement, but he is appeased. Clearly Dean wants his real excuse to remain a secret, but Castiel can't claim intimacy with Dean yet. He'll let him have his secrets.

“I'll let you beat me at X-box in front of everyone at lunch?” Dean offers, trying to make-up with him, despite their teacher's scowl in their direction for continuing to talk over the start of the lesson. Castiel spares a glance in his direction finally, and is met with a grin. Castiel tries his very hardest not to smile back. Dean's mirth is dangerously infectious.

“As if I need a handicap to beat _you,_ ” he whispers back roughly, and he guesses that is the effective end of their first ever fight. He didn't particularly enjoy being angry with Dean anyway.

 

***

  
He doesn't forget about their strange miscommunication that week, but it's an easy misunderstanding to let pass, for Dean's company has become far too addictive to forgo for long. He finds out the real reason for Dean's brief disappearance soon enough, however, for the next week, Castiel is let into the fold by someone who he'd least expect.

“ _Trivia club_?” Castiel frowns at Mr. Singer. When he'd heard the teacher hold him back after class he had suspected there might be some issue with his first assignment he'd handed in, not an invitation to a _club_.

“I promise it's not actually _trivial,_ ” Mr. Singer jokes.

Castiel doesn't really know what to say to such a terrible pun. “Um.”

Mr. Singer leans back in his chair. “I think you'll like it, Castiel, and we could use someone with your kind of repertoire.”

Truly, Castiel had never really thought of engaging himself with any extra-curriculars here. He knows his grades alone will likely be good enough to earn him a place at any school he desires, and he was indeed involved enough at his last school at his father's behest to claim some community involvement likely to charm scholarship offers.

“I'll think about it,” he says, despite himself. Castiel doesn't know what to expect of immersing himself in yet another unfamiliar social group, but today is the same day last week Dean had begged off with _'business'_ , perhaps he will again, and Castiel—he has become strangely unused to being alone.

After a few frustrating minutes of debate, waiting alone yet again out in the school yard, Castiel marches back towards the school, and climbs the staircase to find room 315, as per Mr. Singer's instruction. When he opens the door, he will admit he is surprised by who he finds there, though not disappointed.

As the brown headed boy lounged in front of him turns in his seat to identify their intruder, Castiel offers a smile.

“Hello, Dean.”


End file.
